


hate you, love you

by delibell



Series: 100 Days of Harry Potter! [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 21:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15128120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delibell/pseuds/delibell
Summary: (name) and draco had been sworn enemies for years, but that really was just their strange way of confessing love for one another.[tumblr @delicrieux]





	hate you, love you

_I’m beginning to recognise that real happiness isn’t something large and looming on the horizon ahead but something small, numerous and already here. The smile of someone you love. A decent breakfast. The warm sunset. Your little everyday joys all lined up in a row._

That was your perspective, coloured in a rosy shade of blush and the friendly yellow uniform of your House. Hufflepuff has the reputation of being the House that accepts, loves, and cherishes everyone that gives them the time of they. Therefore, most assume that every single person in said House is naïve, lacks backbone, and is too idealistic.  _Too kind_ , the other Houses rave,  _you will only get hurt with that sort of mentality!…_

Since when is being  _too kind_  a bad thing? Happiness needn’t be some grand gesture. Small things matter more. Happiness is giving, not receiving,  _not fighting_.  _Happiness is peace_ , is what you think with a smile.

Of course, that beautiful mentality is promptly discarded when you meet a certain Slytherin boy that gets on your nerves more than anyone you have ever met.

You have no trouble dishing out what he rightfully deserves for being a prick. You don’t even try to understand him, unlike you do with others. You refuse to give him your time of day. And while yes, you are considered a nice person by some, you have guts and you are unafraid of confrontation like so many from your house.

Bickering is a constant sight between you and Draco Malfoy. Your friends have grown quite tired of it, really. There hadn’t been an instance in years where the two of you could sit in the same classroom in silence, without firing some sort of antagonistic remark at one another. You cannot recall how you came to hate him. Your first year at Hogwarts was relatively tame, and you hadn’t made your mortal enemy yet. Perhaps you had performed superb in charms, brewed a better potion, or flown more skilfully on a broom than he. Whatever it was, one day you awoke to a letter addressed to you. Curious and a bit frightened, you opened it to find only one sentence scribbled at a piece of parchment.

**Get out of my school.**

Is all it said, signed by Draco Malfoy himself with his awful eleven year old signature. You had found him after Herbology, putting away his books alone, and making sure his lackeys were away for the moment you walked up to him and hit him on the arm.

“ _Ow_!” He had whined, sending you a glare, “The hell is your problem, (Lastname)?”

Your eyes had widened, “The hell is my— _MY_  problem? You’re the one sending letters telling me to leave Hogwarts!” Noting your frustration, he had smirked.

“ _Yeah_? Well it’s because you should. Face it, you’ll never achieve anything. Best quit while you still have some dignity left.”

That was the day a spiteful fire was born. There was nothing in this world that could make you like Draco Malfoy. This hate was rooted too deeply to simply be torn out.

Alas, years continued with the same model. He notices you walking in the hallways and comments on your lack of poise, whilst you flip him off. In class, students take bets who will attack the other first. It is almost a dance, sort of, a verbal battle that is both fiery and graceful at the same time. While you and he have exchanged numerous insults, neither of you have gone far enough to seriously hurt one another. You hadn’t said a word about his family’s Death Eater status, and in turn he not once mentioned your muggle birth, even if it was the first thing anyone would assume he would make fun of. You fought and teased, but with strange respect. Rumours started to float around that the two of you were secretly in love, merely hiding your feeling behind a charade of hatred. Your friends believed it and never failed to mention it to you. You had dismissed every single thing they dared to comment on.

That is why your heart nearly explodes from hurt when he calls you a ‘Mudblood’.

It had been late in the evening and he was acting odd, odder than his usual pretentious shenanigans. Being a Prefect, or his long lost soulmate as some whispered, you grew concerned when you couldn’t see his obnoxious face during dinner. In turn, too preoccupied with catching him wandering somewhere in the shadows of the Great Hall, you hadn’t touched your meal and left on an empty stomach as soon as you realised he was not coming. Your friends had called after you, but true to your character, when it came to Draco hardly anything else mattered.

The hallways were quiet and empty. Some portraits had already gone to bed, some chatted idly about the dreams they will soon have. You kept your eyes peeled on every moving object or a randomly passing student. You really had no clue where to look for him, or why you were doing so in the first place. His absence tugged on your heartstrings. As if your body has come to despise him so that he was fused with you, in a way. Tired, disappointed, and with an upcoming headache, you decided to head to the kitchens to grab a snack before sneaking into the common room.

Was it luck or something opposite of that, you had passed a classroom in the dungeons that had the door left ajar. You caught a glimpse of his shadowy face and abruptly stopped. It was instinct, really. You were hardly thinking what you were doing, and before long you were asking him, genuinely, your voice void of sarcasm or any ill intent, if he was alright. It scared him, your question. It made him pale, if that was even possible, and stiffen. Surprise shone in his features, but soon that morphed into unfiltered disgust.

“Get out of my sight you  _mudblood_.”

But he does not look at you as he says this. It is a hiss directed at the cupboard with potion bottles, yet it pierces your heart all the same. It is your time to freeze, to lock your jaw and forget to breathe. Your whole train of thought is wiped clean, as if nothing had existed prior and nothing will exist after this moment. Then it all comes crashing down in the most painful way. What  _respect_? What  _concern_?  _What were you even thinking_? He is nothing but a brat, an evil and vile Slytherin prick wanting nothing more but to belittle and hurt you.

You suddenly feel like crying. But you don’t allow yourself to appear so weak, so affected by his comment.

“…Forget I said anything.” You whisper, your voice hollow. With a quick step back you exit the classroom, your eyes never leaving his distraught form, before your fingers grasped the handle and shut the door harshly.

You didn’t have it in you to call him out anymore. Your resolve to destroy him wilted like a daisy seized by the cold wind. You avoided him all together, opting to spend your time in the Common Room or Library, catching up on studies and hanging out with people that did not care about your mudblood status. You rescheduled your classes so you would not have to face him. You pretended that, if you could delete him from the pretty picture of your life, this pain would go away.

It is a shame, really. You had always expected the two of you to end up being friends. Perhaps you bought into the gossip too much.

It is early morning when you run into him. It had been nearly two months since you had faced him properly, and you feel no less prepared or at ease. You gulp. He stares at you as if he had seen a ghost, though soon he looks away shamefully. Silence. Neither of you move from your respective places. He must have just left the Common Room…What a coincidence, so have you.

You press your books closer to your chest. The past you would have flung them at him, chased him off. The present you does not even have the strength to move. He really hurt you, he knows this. He is sorry, though he is unsure of how he should even approach you now. At first you were at even grounds, tied by hatred. Now the two of you are tied by hurt. He would gladly go back to you hating him than seeing you almost  _afraid_  of him.

“This probably means nothing to you, but…” He starts hesitantly, watching your expression morph with hostility, “I am sorry. For what I said. I crossed a line, and…” He is unsure how to finish, so he lets his words hang. His ego be damned. Even he can admit to a fault sometimes.

You shake your head, “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“But I do. Mean it.  _I do mean it_.” Draco says, now more confident, “You don’t deserve to be called that. Not by  _me_  or  _anyone else_.” Awkwardly, he runs his fingers through his hair, “To be honest, I…I’m not even sure why we fight all the time. And this year has been…a mess and I took it out on you.”

You give him a sad smile, “In another life we might’ve been friends.” You add quietly, “I accept your apology.” Maybe what the other Houses say is right, maybe being too kind is a bad things, “Now, if you’ll excuse me—“ You turn to walk away but he grabs your hand with a desperate ‘Wait!’. You try not to think about how big his hand is, completely engulfing yours. How warm it sis, too. Slowly, you turn to look at him.

“Can you give me a second chance?” He asks you, his eyes boring into your own. You feel heart rising to your cheeks. Confused and unsure how to process this, your brows knit together softly, “I think we can still be friends, and…” His eyes wander down to where your hands connect perfectly, “And…maybe…” Draco is having trouble wording what he wants to say, but you understand him, “Maybe—“

“Let’s start with just friends, alright?” You ask gently, a small smile tilting the corners of your lips. He nods, letting go of your hand but his fingers linger as you part.

“I don’t even deserve as much.” He says, more to himself than you. That all soon melts away, as he smirks and eyes you knowingly, in all his prick-ish glory, “Try not to run away from me anymore, (Lastname). I’ll see you at Charms.”

You can’t help but smile. Back to the good old days, is it?

“Can’t wait to knock your ego down a bunch. It had obviously grown with no one there to show you your place.” You bite back, this time with a beaming smile.

Your relationship had changed drastically from there on out. Your friends took a collective sigh of relief, as the two of you were back to your usual banter. His did, too. But they soon were surprised once more at the sight of you…chatting? Instead of screaming at each other the two of you now bickered in whispers. Instead of frowns and sneer, sneaky smiles and smirks replaced them. Instead of him sitting at the other side of the class, so he could always plainly see you and mock you, he now took a seat next to you and neither of you minded, nor felt the need to explain why.

Before long, one rosy evening at the astronomy tower he had kissed you, and you had kissed back.

Your mentality was right all along. Happiness is the little things. Happiness is his dorky laugh. Happiness is his strange sense of humour. Happiness was there all along, but you never knew. Well, now you do. And you relish in this happiness as you hold his hand and wait for the upcoming summer.


End file.
